Lord! What has happened to the blogs? They've gone all fancy!

I am ill today. Sitting in my pyjamas with a duvet and a nice cup of lemsip (when I say 'nice' i mean 'disgusting but necessary').

The boy and I are trying to work out how we might be able to move to New York. We usually have our annual trip there at about this time of year, but there will be none of that this year, owing to lack of funds and supposed saving for all things wedding.
But it's all I can think about at the moment. I need my New York fix! And I want to move there so much it's ridiculous. I realise that visiting New York is probably nothing like the experience of actually living there - if I lived there I expect I would end up in a crack house in the Bronx for the bargain price of $3000 a month - and it probably isn't as amazing as it seems during a one week holiday, but there's just something about New York that feels like home.
Unfortunately the US immigration system doesn't seem to agree.
Maybe I could marry Andrew J Lederer?

Hum. I guess I'll have to put the whole New York thing on the back burner for a while until I become wildly successful and am offered a series of high-profile gigs in Manhattan, and then whilst I'm there a billionaire benefactor offers to let me live in his East Village apartment for just $10 a year for the rest of my life, and the immigration services are so taken with my song about pencils that they offer me a green card without me having to even fill in a form.

I keep writing long paragraphs of blog and then deleting them.
I think I will come back to this when I am not feeling quite so close to death and my brain is not covered with little bits of dust and fog.

For anyone that might be interested in my new Comedy club, I did the cyber-kid thing and set up a Facebook group for it. Damn Facebook and its everyone-hates-it-but-it's-also-really-useful ways!
http://www.new.facebook.com/groups.php?gid=36911464534&add#/group.php?gid=26907585757&ref=ts

Better go, it's time to huddle up on the Sofa and watch the Sex and the City film for the fourth time since I bought it on Monday.
Yes, I'm a loser, but I'm ill, so you have to let me off.

R xx

I had possibly one of the most entertaining conversations I've ever had with someone in a call centre on Friday. I guess that's not saying much - call centre employees are not known for their wit or conversational ability but this was beyond belief.

I was at work and for reasons I won't go into, needed to find out the number of 10 Downing Street quite urgently (I love that, it makes me sound like I might be really important and work at MI5...although then I guess I would probably know the Prime Minister's direct line. Anyway, I digress).

I rang 118247 - which as far as I was aware was Directory enquiries. However what appeared to happen was that I got through to someone that worked on Fonejacker.
The conversation went like this:

Me: Hi, I need to get the number of the Switchboard for 10 Downing Street please
Man: Ok. 10 Downing Street. What town is that in please
Me: (bemused pause) - um, London?
Man: London. Could you spell that please?
Me: Could I spell London?
Man: Yes
Me: L-o-n-d-o-n. (I was laughing by this point). You know, it's the capital of England?
Man: Ok. And what was the name of the business again?
Me: 10 Downing Street. It's where the Prime Minister lives.
- At this point someone came over to tell me they'd got hold of the number so I said 'never mind' and hung up.

But really?! Isn't 10 Downing Street actually the most famous address in the country?
The only other one I can think of is 29 Acacia Road, home of Eric, the schoolboy who leads an amazing double life (for when Eric eats a banana, an amazing transformation occurs)...and that isn't actually a real place.

So that was a bit strange.

I wonder if Directory Enquiries are now employing a new breed of thick person - so thick that they have never heard of anything in the world, ever?

I have begun to worry about the state of humanity, truly.

I had a massive argument with a jobsworth twat at Charing Cross the other day - I got there (on the train) only to realise I had forgotten to renew my weekly travelcard.
I went straight to the little office they have behind the barriers to ask if I could get a ticket - at which point I was accosted by a nasty little fat man who shrieked 'why don't you have a ticket?!'
I explained that I usually bought a weekly card and had forgotten to renew it. 'Well you will have to pay a penalty'! He cried.
'No'. I said 'I won't. I just want to buy a travelcard. I'm not paying a fine just for forgetting. I need a travelcard anyway'.
'Give me your address' he said.
'No'. I said 'I won't. Why should I?' then told him I just wanted a ticket, why wouldn't he let me buy one and have done with it?
'I will call the police!' he cried, clearly not aware that the police aren't particularly interested in young women trying to buy a travelcard.
'Ok then. Call the police'. I said.
I then walked to the gate hoping to get through so I could go and buy a ticket from the machine.

He ran after me and actually pushed me back away from the barriers.

Now this is the point where I think most people would agree I was well within my rights to get very angry.
It's one thing for this for this man to be a rude obnoxious dickhead, but pretending to be a bouncer and trying to physically push me around is definitely not part of the job description of a ticket inspector.

'You get your fucking hands off me! Don't you dare touch me!' I shouted.
'I just want to go to the machine and buy a travelcard'.
'But that would be cheating!' he cried, confirming that in fact, he didn't give a shit about right or wrong, he just wanted to win in the pathetic game he had invented for himself called 'I won't have to kill myself for being such a miserable turd if I can steal people's money in unfair fines'.

But can you imagine if I had pushed him - I would be arrested and prosecuted for assault. In what universe is it ok for a fat middle-aged balding ticket inspector to physically push a lady around just because she wants to avoid looking into his miserable soul-less face for a moment longer?

Anyway, in the end I paid his stupid fine, because I didn't particularly want to be trapped behind the barriers all day - but after I had paid it I said 'right, I've paid your fine, we're going to have a little chat now'.

He wouldn't even look me in the eye and kept saying 'I am done with you. I am not talking to you now' to which I said 'Well, I'm not done with you. I want to find out why you think it's ok to treat another human being with such contempt and disrespect. How would you feel if it was your wife that someone had spoken to and treated like that?'
'I am done with you' he said
'How would you feel if it was your wife?' I repeated
'I don't have a wife. I'm single.'
'I'm not surprised' I said. 'Maybe you should learn to treat people with a little respect and compassion and then you wouldn't go home miserable and lonely and cry yourself to sleep knowing that not even your mother loves you.'

And then I ran off and cried in a corner for about an hour.

-----
So, I'm hoping that if I start blogging again on a regular basis, I might get my name back on the blog board at the top.
If not then I'll have to continue on as an underground blogger, available only to those in the know. Which is pretty much just me and my boyfriend.

Hey ho.

I have a blister on my finger from playing the guitar. It hurts.

Hope you enjoyed learning that exciting piece of information.

Better go, lots to do. I've set up a new comedy club and there is much to plan.

R x

My gums are bleeding from sucking too hard on a sugar free sweet.
That's so anti-rock n roll.

I wish I had an Aunty Rocknroll. That would be a bit of a paradox though - because her name would be Rocknroll - which is quite Rocknroll. But then to her nieces and nephews she'd be Aunty / Anti Rocknroll - the nemesis of Rocknroll.
Perhaps she'd have to ensure that her siblings never had children, otherwise she might implode from name-based paradoxia.

Is paradoxia a word? If not, it is now.

That's one of the great things about Shakespeare (apart from, you know, him being the best playwright in history). He just said "Is that a word? Is that a phrase? No? Oh well, it is now!"
Although it's a shame that 'Sblood' never really caught on as an expression. Sounds a bit like a squashy alien.
"I am a Sblood! Cower before my undulating flesh!"

So, how are those Edinburgh shows going? I won't make it to the festival this year. It's a shame, but hey. Sometimes it's good to stay in London and while away the days on a diet of nairns oatcakes and sugar free sweets that make your mouth bleed. Nice.

In fact I'm busy making plans for Le Grand Wedding which will be happening next year. Yep, I'm getting married. It's a bit weird given that I don't really feel grown up enough to even tie my own shoelaces. Trying to work out what songs to have at the wedding. Nick and I both like that song about Dancing then wherever you may be, but apparently this isn't a very appropriate song for a wedding.
It's about a dancing cannibal isn't it?

Dance then wherever you may be
I am the lord of the dance said he
And I'll eat you all wherever you may be
And I'll eat you all at the dance said he.

And I don't much care for cannibals, but I sure do like dancing.

Ow, why does it hurt so much? No more sweets for me. I'm off to have some milk.

Yours,

Ruth P. Esquire

Damn it, now I just look like an idiot. My link's been deleted but the blog still goes up on the main page. Not that anyone cares. I shall do a little dance now. Bye

I've got deleted off the main page of Chortle, which is fair enough, as I don't think I've actually posted anything in about a year.
But the wicked thing is, my blog itself doesn't seem to have been deleted, which means I can continue it for my own private amusement, like most things in my life.
Like thinking.

In fact, I think so much of the time blogs end up being written so much with an audience / reader in mind that they cease to be what I think they should really be - which is thoughts typed on a little screen (or a big screen if you are rich and have a fancy computer).

So. Hi there.

I've been writing songs recently. I'm trying to get my act together (literally and figuratively) and start a monthly comedy night, but I keep being tired and falling asleep instead. It simply won't do. It's also tricky to find the balance between a venue that charges £50,000 plus 99% of the ticket price, and one where it's cheap but I fear I may be mauled to death by large red-faced men with beer-stained man boobs.

I love that my blog hasn't been deleted! So happy!

I HAVE A LITTLE FRIEND CALLED DAVE NOW.

(I didn't mean to write that in capitals, I just knocked the button on by accident).

Dave actually belongs to the people in the flat upstairs, but he comes to visit to scrounge for food and do his impression of a cat (he does this quite well, it entertains me for many hours). Clever Dave, so good at looking like a cat.

We had to sell Peggy - did I mention that before? Well, we did. Turns out a car in London is a bad and expensive idea, let alone a car that feels like travelling inside a small tin can and that makes disturbing noises and doesn't like it when you try to turn corners or reverse or drive faster than 40 miles an hour. Poor Peggy.

I must go - I need to see if posting this actually works before I spend ages writing it.

Love to no one (as in, no one will read this as it's now a secret blog) xx